


The Cracked Kaleidoscope (Or: A Kaleidoscope of Crack)

by Zayrastriel



Category: Doctor Who, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, collation of random fics/drabbles, mix of stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:18:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and fics.  Pairing/fandom and concept will be in chapter title.</p><p>CHAPTER ONE: Destiel AU: Dean hallucinates Supernatural<br/>CHAPTER TWO: Destiel High School AU Oblivious!Destiel<br/>CHAPTER THREE: Gabriel/Crowley: Gabe finds Crowley hiding from Lucifer<br/>CHAPTER FOUR: Aziraphale/Crowley - Crowley killing Aziraphale<br/>CHAPTER FIVE: Rory/Eleven: Amelia leaves, but Rory doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Destiel AU: Dean hallucinates Supernatural

**Author's Note:**

> Dean's not crazy. The world is.

Everyone thinks Dean’s crazy; he can see it in their eyes, in the way their backs hunch when he insists that they understand.

Dad is always calm, the way he never used to be before he stuck Dean in this prison.  Dean was more used to seeing him drunk than sober, but now when Dad visits him, Dean can't smell a whiff of alcohol on him.  That's one thing at least, though if it were up to Dean he'd take drunken, angry Dad over the quiet man with regret and despair glimmering dully in his eyes.

Sammy's just angry, all the time, every single time. Sometimes he starts off calm, persuasive; but the kid's still in his mid-twenties, still got the same rage that drove him to run off to Stanford.  Inevitably, he'll crack, as though if he just yells at Dean hard enough, comes to visit him that one more time, something might happen to Dean that’ll get him hooked onto the same illusion the world’s suffering from.

Because see, the thing is, Dean isn’t crazy (though he almost believed it, almost believed it to the point where he was about to stop clinging to the truth in lieu of the soothing cocoon of lies the world hides within.)

But now he doesn't think it anymore.  He knows he's sane.

Because Cas believes him. Because Castiel, all weird and stilted and silent, is the only other person who remembers about the demons and the angels and Mum who didn’t  _die in a car-crash._  Cas whispers love and faith into Dean’s ear when they sneak away from the doctors long enough to kiss in the janitor’s closet.

Cas leaks reality into Dean's pores, sends it through every vein and artery when they fuck at night, lonely but never alone.


	2. Destiel High School AU Oblivious!Destiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sam and Cas are best friends even though Cas is like two years older than him, and Dean’s Sam’s older brother which is the only reason he forces himself to sit down and watch them stare obliviously and longingly at each other every single day.
> 
> At least, till Sam decides that enough is enough.

That’s it.

Not just ‘it’, but  _it_.

“That’s  _it_!” Sam shouts, interrupting Dean and Cas’s eye sex (thank  _God_ ) as they both turn to look at him, Dean with an expression of irritable confusion and Cas with a slightly more intense version of the normal vague confusion that seems to be his face.

Dean opens his mouth, but Sam cuts him off with a wild flourish of his hands before his brother gets through no more than a weirded-out “Dude, what the he-“

“ _This_ is hell!” Sam screams ( _shouts_ , he corrects hastily, he doesn’t  _scream_ ).  ”I’m pretty sure the bottom circle of Hell isn’t Lucifer, Dean, it’s having to eat lunch watching your brother and your best friend have telepathic sex!”

There’s complete silence as Dean and Cas stare up at him - wow, he’s standing, not sure when  _that_ happened - and slowly, Sam becomes more and more aware of the fact that the entire population of the cafeteria - i.e. the whole goddamned  _school_ \- is staring at him.

Slowly, he sinks back into his seat.

“Dude,” Dean says finally, voice sounding slightly…off… “I’m - I’m not…ya know…” It’s Sam’s brother’s turn to gesticulate incomprehensibly, “…gay.  Yeah…”

He trails off into silence, swiveling away from Sam to look back at the totally non-gay, completely and fucking utterly platonic love of his life; who is also no longer staring at Sam, clearly too lost in realisation.

Or maybe confusion.

Like he said before, it's hard to tell with Castiel.

"I'm not...I've never...I'm not gay...?"  Dean repeats.  This time, his voice is very slightly higher, bordering on the verge of panic.

Silence.  Then suddenly, someone calls out - one of Dean's footballer friends, MIke.  "Dude, you stare at Novak's ass like, all the time."

From around them, Sam hears sounds of murmured agreement.

"Yeah!" Anna, Dean's ex, calls out, "and you'd always blow me off to go help him  _study_!"  Actually, Sam's a little surprised anyone would fall for _that_ excuse.  Cas is in like a million advanced classes.  Dean got the hitherto-undiscovered grade of  _G minus_ for algebra.

Dean breaks the creepily intense eyelock he's got going on with Cas to swivel in his chair and glare at the entire cafeteria.  "Shut  _up_!"

"Dean."

Pie couldn't get Dean to move as fast as he does at the sound of Cas's voice (and Sam would know, he really would).  "Yeah, Cas?"  Sam's brother's voice trembles - just a little, but more than enough for Sam to feel just a little smug.  

"Is it..." Determination wars with the confusion etched into Cas's face.  And it  _wins_.  "Is this true?"

Sam watches as his brother swallows audibly.  "I..."  He swallows again.  "Um.  Maybe?  I suppose so?"

Slowly, a smile creeps onto Cas's face.  He leans forwards very slightly, and Dean's eyes widen before he does the same.

 _Finally_ , Sam thinks as he leans over quietly and grabs his bag and still-full tray that he’s not going to able to eat any more of because Dean might still call him Samantha and give him Barbie dolls for Christmas but he is a teenage boy and thus not cut out for…whatever’s happening behind him.

From the sound of cheers and half-hearted “ _get a room, fags_ ”, quite a lot.


	3. Gabriel/Crowley: Gabe finds Crowley hiding from Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel finds Crowley as he hides from Lucifer's minions.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the King of the Crossroads. How’s being a fugitive?”

Crowley rushed to his feet, ready to flee (again, because clearly Lucifer left the Pit in no better a mood than he’d entered it) when he finally recognised the not-man lounging against the door of his latest safe house.

“Oh, it’s  _you_ ,” he sighed, slumping back into his chair and rubbing his forehead to get rid of that horrible half-headache that meant his current meatsuit had been about as freaked out as he was.

A brief look of indignation crossed the Archangel Gabriel’s face, not-there wings flaring out.  Crowley flinched back and cursed internally for his reaction – not his fault he was more than a little nervous about archangel wings.  Flaring.  At him.  Aggressively.

Fucking Lucifer.

The worst thing was that Gabriel clearly picked up on his discomfort.  “Nervous, are we?”

“Your brother’s been sending his minions after me for the past three weeks, I’m sure you’d be nervous too,” Crowley growled.  “How did you find me, anyway?  This whole place is rigged with angel wards.”

Gabriel shrugged, coming forwards to fling himself onto the tiny, sagging couch opposite from Crowley’s chair.  “ _Hello_ , Trickster?  How do you think I managed to avoid Michael and Raphael for the last seven thousand years?”

“Fair point.”  Leaning forwards to grab the bottle of Scotch, Crowley eyed the label critically.  Cheap, but the best he could find while on the run from every demon looking to get on Lucifer’s good side (i.e. all of them).  “So what do you want?”

The archangel’s eyes followed the movement of his hand as Crowley carefully poured himself a glass.  “And don’t bother,” Crowley added as Gabriel opened his mouth.  “Stuff’s shit anyway, and it’s not like you can get drunk.”

Another shrug.  “Just wanted to check up my old mate Crowley, dontcha know,” Gabirel replied nonchalantly.  “Heard about your deal with the Winchesters, heard my bro was out to get you, wanted to catch up.  It’s been a while – haven’t seen you since…when was it…?”

“Romania, ’76,” Crowley responded easily, turning the angel’s words –  _Winchesters, why would he bring that up_? – over in his head as he continued, “Bela Karolyi – biggest waste of a deal, that Comaneci girl would have been fine with or without the…”   _Winchesters_  – “oh, no, the Winchesters got you, didn’t they.  Was it Dean?  Must have been Dean, Sam doesn’t get to anyone in the same was as Dean does, what did he say?” Crowley asked gleefully.

“Oh, screw  _you_ ,” the archangel returned without missing a beat, but he didn’t look annoyed; the frown creasing his vessel’s brow was thoughtful, like he was…

Oh,  _Hell_.  “He  _did_ get to you,” Crowley groaned.  “You’re going to do something stupid and noble and self-sacrificial – don’t look at me like that, I remember Normandy 1788 – and – oh come on, like you stand a chance against Lucifer.”

Gabriel smiled, but it was distant and sad; less human and older than Crowley had ever seen on his face.  “You’re right,” he said.  “You’re right.”

The wings that were but weren’t there twitched slightly as they gleamed in an unseen light, and Crowley had to look away.  There was a reason so many demons still kow-towed to Lucifer; Fallen or not, he was an angel, everything a demon…wasn’t.

When he looked back towards the couch, Gabriel was gone.

In his head, Crowley mentally crossed a name off of his carefully catalogued list of angels to watch out for.


	4. AziraphalexCrowley - Crowley killing Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley believes Heaven is responsible for the Spanish Inquisition, and takes it out on Aziraphale. He's wrong.

“By the way, Crowley,” Beezelbub adds with a sibilant hiss, clearly ignoring the actual impossibility of hissing a sentence completely free of the letter ‘s’, “thank you for overseeing Hastur’s work with the Spanish Inquisition.”

He vanishes before Crowley’s eyes have managed to widen in shock - horror - because… _It wasn’t us_ , he’d spat at the angel,  _even Hell can’t be as cruel as you_ , right before he’d speared Aziraphale on his own blade.

 _He’s dead_ , Crowley thinks numbly,  _oh God_ , and he turns his gaze upwards on an instinct that’s more than ten thousand years dead, because  _I’m so sorry, angel, I’m so so sorry, Aziraphale._


	5. Rory/Eleven: Amelia leaves, but Rory doesn't.

It isn’t sudden, like the Doctor might have expected.  No one dies, for one thing.  It’s rather unusual; mostly someone dies.  Someone they love, or a complete stranger, or they themselves.  Sometimes it’s him.

But death isn’t why Amelia leaves him.

He’s rather forced to believe, from lack of any other option, that it is instead boredom that drives her away.

Boredom!

Even more absurd than it sounds, surely, because how could it ever be possible to tire of supernovas and diamond planets?  Of sunny ancient beaches and the first ice cream ever made?  How many times before watching the Earth’s formation becomes tiresome?

What is most spectacular to the Doctor about this whole disaster is that Amelia leaves, leaves for normal life.  For slow mornings and Sundays, to go to work and do the laundry.

…But – no.  That isn’t right.

What is most spectacular is not that Amelia leaves for normal life.  It is that Rory does not leave with her.

The Centurion stays, and it takes two years, three near-deaths and a rather close call with a banana before the Doctor is kissing Rory, and Rory is kissing back, and the Doctor understands.

That doesn't make it any less spectacular, though; not at all.


End file.
